


In The Darkness The One-Eyed Man is King

by lamentomori



Series: Everything Tends Towards Entropy [7]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A few days together in Las Vegas sounds like a wonderful escape from the Abyss. It's a shame that the Abyss follows.





	In The Darkness The One-Eyed Man is King

He’s excited, stupidly excited. He shouldn’t be, but this is a big thing. The opportunity to spend some time with Hiromu without Naito, without Omega, without Ibushi. Just Hiromu and Marty. No-one else hovering over them, apart from Cody, and The Bucks, and Page, and the surprisingly unawkward knowledge that Bushi knows exactly how involved they’ve become. Bushi turned out to be very uninterested beyond how his English was compared to his Spanish. Marty’s Spanish is limited to what he learnt from Little Juan and El Nombre. He was damn put out when he was told by a cackling Hiromu that nombre meant name and not number. He felt like he’d been lied to his whole life, and had let both Hiromu and Bushi know as much. The consoling peck on the cheek Hiromu had given him had been utterly uncommented on by Bushi. He’d felt more comfortable around Hiromu’s teammate than he has around his own in months, and he was almost sad to say goodbye to Bushi. He’d been utterly miserable about saying goodbye to Hiromu, almost enough to blow off his flight, and stay longer. It’d taken Hiromu essentially dragging him to Haneda to get him to leave.

“I’ve missed you.” Marty wraps his arms around Hiromu as soon as he’s made it through airport security. He doesn’t relax in Marty’s arms, but he doesn’t tense either. He drops his bags, and pulls Marty close, clinging to him. He feels exhausted, his body stiff, and heavy.

“You’ve no idea.” Hiromu murmurs, squeezing Marty tightly. “Take me home.” He sounds even more tired than his body feels.

“Did you get _any_ sleep on that flight?” Marty takes the bag at Hiromu’s feet, and wraps an arm about his shoulders, holding him close. Hiromu shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “C’mon then. I’ll take you to the hotel, and you can have a shower, and a nap.” Marty ruffles his hair, and feels a flood of warmth at the grateful smile Hiromu gives him.

They’ve only been apart for a little while, but that little while had made Marty fully appreciate how slippery the path he’s on with Hiromu is. He might have compounded his mess with Omega, and Cody, and Bullet Club with a mess with Hiromu, and his associates. At least Bushi seemed reasonable. Perhaps he should try getting in there. Under the mask he’s reasonably handsome, he makes very good breakfast, and has lovely hands. Not bad traits in a lover, if only Marty could be interested in people who are in his reach. Omega remains beautifully out of reach, but if he ever got the chance, he would in a heartbeat. Then there’s Hiromu. Probably just as beautifully out of reach, but close enough for Marty to have for moments at a time. Those brief moments are essentially the only lights in his life. It’s almost undoubtedly a _very_ bad idea to set himself, and his foolish heart, towards a ticking timebomb like Hiromu.

The taxi ride to the hotel is long, and quiet. About five minutes into it, Hiromu slumped over against Marty’s shoulder, fast asleep. The driver had looked back at them, his eyebrow raised.

“He flew over from Japan.” Marty offers the slightly confused man as an explanation. “It’s a long flight.” Marty absently slips an arm around Hiromu’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer. He makes a quiet little noise, and snuggles against Marty. The driver’s other eyebrow raises, but he says nothing. The ride to the hotel would be uncomfortable if Marty cared what the driver thought of them. All he really cares about is the press of Hiromu against his side, warm, solid, and _sorely_ missed. It’s almost painful to realise how much, and how quickly, he’s fallen into Hiromu. So much of him will ache if Hiromu decides this isn’t what he needs any more. Although, if Marty’s honest, he’s not sure this is what either of them _needs_. What they need is probably much bigger than either of them can provide each other. Their wounds, their difficulties, their _everything_ is much bigger than either one of them.

As soon as he’d showered, Hiromu had collapsed onto the bed, groaning miserably as Marty pulled the quilt from under, and then over him. He’d offered Marty a sleepy smile, his eyes already closed. Marty had sat on the bed, near him, propped a pillow up against the headboard, and settled down to do nothing but pet Hiromu’s hair for a while.

“I’ve got some BTE stuff to do.” The text from Matt comes about an hour into Hiromu’s nap, and Marty keenly resents being dragged away from his side. Hiromu grumbles sleepily, his hand tightens on where he’s holding Marty’s trousers. “Hey, c’mon. I gotta go.” If he doesn’t Matt and Nick know where his room is, and they _will_ come looking for him. He’s sure that they’d be less supportive than Bushi.

“No.” Hiromu mumbles, moving closer. Marty shakes his head, and smooths Hiromu’s hair from his face.

“I’ll be back, Hiromu. You finish up your nap, and I’ll take you out to dinner when I’m back.” That gets a vague little grumble of agreement from Hiromu as he turns to lie on his back. Marty pulls the pillow that was behind him down for Hiromu to cling to in his sleep, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Leaving him hurts, it hurts far more than it should. He’s no desire to go hang out with his friends, he wants to stay petting Hiromu’s hair for hours.

The hotel room is dark and empty when Marty gets back, and he’s entirely grateful for that. The BTE cast meeting involved one member more than he’d wanted. Omega. Sitting there like it was nothing, like there wasn’t a million problems between them all. He’d not stayed long. He’d spoken, but really Marty had no idea what he said. He’d stood frozen in the corner, staring at Omega, nodding vaguely when required, but mostly wanting to be away, to be back with Hiromu, but Hiromu isn’t where he was left. In his place is a very simple note that reads _I’ve a date! LUCKY!!!_ Over punctuated, and written carefully, the note is genuinely the written equivalent of Hiromu’s spoken English. It’s probably a good thing Hiromu isn’t here. He needs space to think. He’d hoped for some time away from Omega, but instead he’s followed him. That seems to be Marty’s miserable luck. At least Cody wasn’t in that stupid meeting, at least he has a vague idea of what is going to happen, and really, he doesn’t care. He’s going to beat Martinez, and he’s going to challenge Castle, or Lethal, depending on who wins, and he’s going celebrate beating the shit out of Flip with Hiromu, because Hiromu is going to kick his ass.  This is going to be a nice little trip to Vegas, and Omega can forget about causing any problems for Marty, he can forget about getting even the time of day from him. He’s done. He’s lying to himself. If Omega knocked on the door now, he’d invite him in and ask him what he needed. He’s probably offer himself on a silver platter for a little of Omega’s attention.

“Fucking pathetic.” Marty snaps at himself, and decides a shower is the best plan for the rest of his night. It’d be nice if this was a shower that was interrupted by Hiromu, but if he’s out, then who knows when he’ll be back.

Around midnight the door opens, and a very obviously drunk Hiromu stumbles in, singing softly to himself. He weaves his way to the bed, shedding clothes, clearly trying to be quiet. He’s failing miserably, but it’s charming all the same. Marty props himself up on his elbows, and watches him awkwardly make his way to the bathroom.

“You okay, Hiromu?” Marty calls out to him, and there’s a clatter from the bathroom. Hiromu pokes his head out, a goofy grin on his lips. Marty has no idea what he says as he vanishes back into the bathroom, it was in slurred, stumbling, rapid Japanese. “Are you okay?” Marty tries again, in his best, clearest Japanese. A very naked, very cheerful looking Hiromu comes bounding over to the bed, and spills onto it. He clambers up the bed like an uncoordinated puppy, still grinning exuberantly.

“Yes.” He nods far too enthusiastically, and seems to be thwarted by blankets. Marty helps him out, pulling him under them, and close. Hiromu grins up at him, and kisses the tip of Marty’s nose. He says something soft, but incomprehensible, and Marty smiles fondly at him.

“You’re drunk, Hiromu.” He nods, and squirms in Marty’s arms. “Did you have a good time?” Another nod, and a half-smothered yawn. Marty kisses his forehead, and pulls him against his chest. “Go to sleep, and in the morning, I’ll give you some painkillers.” Hiromu grumbles something, his hands worming underneath Marty so he can squeeze him tightly. Hiromu presses a very sloppy kiss to Marty lips, and falls asleep.

The next day is actually exactly what Marty had hoped it would be. Hiromu apparently doesn’t get hangovers, because he seems fine, and insists that they run away from responsibilities and go play on The Strip. At first Marty is a little cautious, neither of them are _famous_ , but there’s bound to be a few fans here for the show tonight. Hiromu, however, doesn’t seem to care, and grabbed Marty by the hand, dragging him to the first casino that he thought looked cool. It turns out neither of them are lucky when it comes to gambling, but they had a good time. It was exactly what he’d wanted from a day in Vegas with Hiromu.

The show happens. Marty would rather forget about that. His eye stings. His body aches. Hiromu had apparently already left. That’s story Marty gets from the locker room when his match is over. There’s a few people making the odd jetlag comment, a few others making jokes about sampling the nightlife. Marty doesn’t say anything. He gets showered, and changed, and hangs around aimlessly. He’s not sure if he’s needed later in the show, but it’s safer to wait and see. As soon as he thinks it’s appropriate, he leaves.

He’s not sure what mood Hiromu’s going to be in when he gets to the room. Hiromu had been odd yesterday, but so cheerful all day today, maybe it was jetlag that was wrong with him yesterday. The hotel room is dark, and the only sign of Hiromu is a lump in the bed.

“At least I didn’t come all this way to lose.” Hiromu sounds odd. His voice small and clipped. Marty considers how best to deal with his mood. He’s not sure what exactly what’s wrong. It might be that he’s back later than Hiromu. It’s a vain thought, but Marty is nothing if not a little vain. It might be jetlag. He hopes it’s jetlag. Marty tosses his coat in the general direction of the chair, and comes closer to the bed. Hiromu’s hidden under the quilt. “How’s your eye?” It’s impossible to see his face, as he seems to be lying face down, the quilt over his head, stray strands of red poking out.

“A million stiches, and sore as fuck.” Marty peels the quilt back, and sits with his back against the headboard. “If you die, you can tell the bookers why.” He tells the face down Hiromu, and gets a snort of amusement, but nothing else form Hiromu. “So…you wanna tell me what’s up?”

“Not really.” Hiromu turns to look at Marty through his hair. “Did you talk to Omega?” Marty laughs at that. Hiromu moves to rest his head on Marty’s thigh. Without thought, Marty starts petting his hair. Hiromu moans softly, his eyes are closed, a little smile barely curving his lips. “Can you see if my phone survived?”

“Survived?” Marty looks down at him, an odd sense of contentment filling him when he notes how relaxed Hiromu looks. They may not be the _best_ thing for each other, but they are all they have, and they make do with each other so well. Hiromu laughs vaguely, and flaps a hand in the direction of the wall, on the floor is his phone. “Do I want to know?”

“Yes. Will I tell you? No. It’s not…” Hiromu sighs, and rolls over, getting out of the bed, and stooping to pick up his phone. “Not much is, huh?” He laughs blandly, and rubs his eyes with the heel of the hand not holding his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Hiromu shakes his head. Marty sighs softly, aching to make Hiromu happier. He looks so weighted, so sad. “Tell me something, Hiromu.” Marty pats the bed beside him, getting another head shake from Hiromu. “Right now, even a lie would be better than this.”

“Did you talk to Omega?” Hiromu smiles at him, his phone batting off his bottom lip. This posturing feels stupid. They’re supposed to be helping each other, not holding things in, and over each other. They need to talk to each other. They need to help each other. Hiromu crawls up the bed, his gaze on Marty’s wounded eye. “Would he make it better or worse?” Hiromu pins Marty with the lightest of touches to his chest. “Would it be better if I’d left you alone in the first place?” He smiles wryly, and flops onto his back on the other side of the bed. “Everything’s falling apart, Marty.” Hiromu closes his eyes. Marty twists so he can look at him with his good eye.

“Am I going to have to fight all night?” Hiromu’s eyes snap open, glaring at him at that comment. “I don’t want to fight you, Hiromu.” Marty reaches out to shift his hair from his eyes, but Hiromu shrinks for his touch. “Hiromu?” He shakes his head, and turns his back to Marty. “What did I do?”

“It doesn’t matter. You should get some rest.” He sounds cold, and distant, curled small around himself. This hasn’t been the reunion Marty had been hoping for. He’d wanted everything to fall into place as it usually does between Hiromu and himself, but it’s not. There are a million jagged pieces sticking up in the wrong places. It’s not what he wanted. It’s not what it should be, and he’s no idea why.

“Hiromu…” Marty wants to touch him, he wants to pull Hiromu into his arms, he wants to make this better.

“Hold me.” Hiromu whispers, and Marty pulls him close. “I’m sorry…I…” He trails off, and Marty kisses the back of his head.

“It’s okay.” It’s probably not, it feels like it’s not, but he wants it to be okay more than anything else in the world. Hiromu twists in Marty’s arms, cupping his face.

“Everything’s falling apart, Birdie…I think I’m falling faster though.” Hiromu closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against Marty’s. Marty’s not sure that there’s anything he can say. He’s not sure what he can do, other than hold him close, and try to keep him together. At least until he can wrap his hands around Naito’s throat, because he will be the cause of this. He’ll have to root extra hard for Zack come the first round of the J-Cup. Hopefully, Zack’ll accidentally snap the scruffy asshole’s neck, a leg at least. A couple of Naito-free weeks would do Hiromu the power of good.

Marty wakes to the feeling of Hiromu stroking his face. He’s not looking at Marty, instead he’s on his phone. It’s like the evening they’d spent on the couch with Bushi, the absent, gentle caresses are enough to make Marty want to fall back asleep.

“You sleep okay?” Marty asks, looking up at Hiromu. He looks down with a smile, and taps Marty on his nose.

“I slept.” Hiromu sets his phone down. “Bushi says hi, by the way.” Marty’s surprised by that, but he’s not going to complain. “You wanna stay in bed, and watch terrible videos on YouTube?” Marty laughs at the almost childish grin that’s on Hiromu’s face. It’s a silly plan, but if it’s going to make Hiromu happy, then they’re staying in bed all day, and eating room service until they have to the TV record.

“Marty, can we talk.” Omega, hesitant, quiet, and hopeful. He should tell him no, he should storm down the corridor, find Hiromu, and leave. He stops. Omega smiles at him, and clasps his hands. “Thank you!” He squeezes them tightly, and Marty is considering if he can at once melt and punch Omega in his handsome face.

“What do we need to talk about Kenny?” Omega’s smile brightens, and Marty wonders if Hiromu would punch him for him, or maybe give Omega a chestful of vicious chops that leave gaping wounds.

“We need to talk about a lot of things, but I don’t think we have time to cover all of them, to be honest, my little crow.” Omega’s still holding his hands. Marty’s cheeks are too hot, and he knows he’s a moron. “But most importantly, I’m proud of how well you’re doing.” Omega lets go of one hand to gentle touch the eyepatch string. “I hope you win gold, little crow.” His hand lingers on Marty’s cheek to a moment, then he seems to come to himself, and drops all contact with Marty. “Kota told me he saw you with Hiromu...he...Marty, it’s not a good idea to get involved with LIJ, it’s a worse idea to come between Naito and what’s his.” There’s so much of Marty that wants to punch Kenny, or at the very least scream at him. He has no business stating that Hiromu is Naito’s. If Naito cared about Hiromu half as much as everyone seems to think, then Hiromu wouldn’t have spent all of the time they’ve been together quietly falling apart.

“Thank you for the advice, Kenny.” Marty glances up the corridor, debating just running away. He should never be alone with Omega again.

“Marty, I don’t want to see you hurt.” Omega catches his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I know it’s too late for that, and I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean to drag you into the middle of this.”

“Kenny, where you’re concerned, there’s nowhere but the middle.” Marty laughs. Omega at least has the good grace to look contrite, his hands wringing briefly. “You’re like a fucking force of nature…” Marty trails off, not wanting to be too offensive when it seems like Omega is trying to be _nice_. “As for Hiromu...Naito’s known for a while now, and I’m still standing, so I guess he’s content to let his pet play around.” Marty shrugs, and Omega looks mildly scandalised. Marty himself _is_ scandalised. He can’t believe that phrase left his mouth. Hiromu is more than a pet. He’s so much more than so many people seem to think, no-one seems to realise that he’s a person, a delicate, fragile person who _needs_ to be protected, and more importantly loved.

“A while?” Omega takes a step back, like he’s not sure who he’s talking to, which Marty can’t help but revel in. For a change he’s back-footed Omega, and it feels glorious.

“Before you.” Marty hopes the smirk on his face is as vicious as one of Hiromu’s heavy-handed chest wallops. Omega nods slightly, his eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching.

“Well then.” He sighs, nodding again. His mouth opens and closes a few times, like there are things he wants for to say, but doesn’t know if he should. Marty watches his fluster with that vicious smirk still in place. “Make good choices, Marty. That’s all I ask, make good choices.” Omega can’t look at him, and Marty can’t shake that smirk.

“I’m trying, Kenny.” Marty squeezes his shoulder, and leaves. He’s hoping Hiromu hasn’t been stolen by other people again. He’s got too much energy, and Hiromu is the best person to work it off with.

The room is empty. Marty ends up spending far too long in the shower, jerking off, thinking of Hiromu’s pretty body, and his gentle touch, and gorgeous smile, and his perfect hair. He’s not had Hiromu since that one night in his apartment. He’d hoped for so much more from this, but he’ll settle for seeing Hiromu happy. He’ll take Hiromu looking free, and light, and content, anything but miserable weight that he’s been carrying since he got through security.

Hiromu comes back late, slightly drunk. He wraps his arms around Marty’s neck, and kisses him, desperately, like his life depended on it. Marty kisses him back, trying slow this down, trying to take that desperation from Hiromu.

“Hey, hey.” Marty breaks the kiss, and holds Hiromu’s face. “What’s wrong?” He looks so tired, like he needs nothing more than to rest.

“Kiss me, Marty.” Hiromu leans in again, his lips against Marty’s, not pressing just resting there. “Fuck me…make me forget everything”

“Hiromu.” Marty kisses him softly, and walks Hiromu back towards the bed. “I’m not going too fuck you.” Marty guides him to lie down. “I’ll kiss you. I’ll kiss you a thousand times, but nothing more tonight, Hiromu.” Marty strokes his cheek. Hiromu stares at him blankly. “You don’t need anything, but this.” Marty leans down, kissing him gently. Hiromu bucks up, trying to inspire more from Marty. It’s not what he needs though. Tonight, Hiromu needs something soft, and kind. Mary kisses him again.

“Birdie, I need more.” Hiromu whines, his hands slide down Marty’s back to grab his ass. “This isn’t enough.”

“Hiromu.” Marty shifts to lie down beside him. He looks so tired, and worn down. “Talk to me.”

“You keep asking me to do that, Marty.” Hiromu scowls, and turns his back to Marty. “I’ve nothing I want to talk about.”

“You’ve got plenty I want to listen to, though, Hiromu. Tell me what’s wrong?” Marty stares up at the ceiling, miserable with what feels like a mortal wound in their relationship. Hiromu doesn’t answer. Marty’s never been unhappy with knowing what it sounds like when Hiromu is asleep until now. He’s never been so alone in a bed with someone else.

Marty’s at once annoyed, and concerned that he’s been woken up. He’s no reason to be awake, until he barely hears the soft sound of Hiromu’s voice. It’s low, and muffled, but audible even through the bathroom door. He sounds _distraught_. Naito’s J-Cup match. He sighs, and stares at the ceiling. Hiromu’s so tightly bound up with Naito. Anything other than being his fuck buddy is impossible. It doesn’t matter that Marty could, _would_ , be more to him. Stupidity. That’s what this is. He was never supposed to be more than a fuck buddy. He was only supposed to fuck him. Nothing more. They were never supposed to entangle themselves in each other beyond being a safety net. A brief respite. A port in the storm of being swept along with forces bigger than themselves. Without Hiromu, Marty would have handled this a lot poorer. He’d be more of a mess. Hiromu provided him with the port he needs, but he’s never really done anything for Hiromu. He’s fucked him, but that left him with bruises. He was fucked by him, but that’s left him _this_ , what ever it is Naito did or said to him before he came to the US, which has left him in this awful skittish mood. Never has he agreed with Zack more than now. Naito is a fucking dickhead, and he hopes his dear friend kicked the shit out of him. A beating might knock some sense into Naito. That’d hurt Hiromu though, and will only mean Zack gets beaten by Ibushi, because there’s no way Yoshi-Hashi is winning. Maybe Zack will prove himself the best friend ever, and clobber both Naito and Ibushi.

“Who won?” It’s just after three in the morning when Hiromu leaves the bathroom. He looks deflated, and tired, and like he needs something, but Marty has no idea what.

“Zack.” Hiromu sighs, and crumples to his knees, the light from the bathroom letting him hide his face in shadows. “He came to me.” The awful hollow voice from so many rants with nothing but a ceiling showing on the facetime call. “The night you left…he came to me and asked me if I remembered Mexico. I told him I did.” Hiromu curls in on himself further, and Marty sits up on the bed, wondering if he should do anything to comfort Hiromu. “I need you…when everything’s falling apart, Hiromu, that’s when I need you the most.” Hiromu shoves his hand through his hair, scrapping it from his face. “Before…in Osaka he…he told me that a thousand times. I need you, and I didn’t know what he meant. When you left, he came to me, Marty. He…fuck…everything I’d ever wanted back was there. Everything I hoped flirting with other people would draw out of him, finally paid off, and he was _my_ Tetsuya again.” Hiromu looks up at him. It’s too dark for Marty to see his face, but he knows the bathroom light is giving Hiromu a perfect view of his, and he hopes it’s blanker than he feels.

“…Hiromu.” Marty wants to demand that Hiromu look at this from his perspective. From the outside this sounds like Naito was just making sure Hiromu stayed wrapped around his finger, giving him a few days, a few hours, a few minutes of what he wants to make sure that Naito keeps what has to be a useful tool.

“I know…you’re thinking what if he’s just using me, right?” Hiromu crawls over to the bed, and rests his chin on the edge, his hair in his eyes. “I’m thinking it too, you know.” Marty stares over at him, and reaches out, moving his hair from his eyes. “He’s like…” Hiromu laughs, and clambers up on the bed. “He’s everything.” Hiromu straddles Marty’s legs.

“Everything’s falling apart, huh?” Marty’s hand rests on the back of Hiromu’s neck, his thumb moving over Hiromu’s skin. Naito is Hiromu’s everything. It’s an odd thing to realise. When Hiromu says everything is falling apart, he means that Naito is falling apart, and dragging Hiromu with him.

“Yeah.” Hiromu leans in for the kiss, a slow, yearning thing. His hands tangle in Marty’s hair, his body writhes slowly in his arms, rubbing against Marty’s. “It usually is.” He stills in Marty’s arms, his hands framing Marty’s face. “I should be used to that by now, huh?”

“You should be free of it by now, Hiromu.” Marty rests his hands on Hiromu’s waist, watching him carefully, uncertain of how much he’s allowed to push, uncertain of how much he wants to push. If he pushes too hard, he might get the distant Hiromu that’s been around since he arrived, which wouldn’t be good for either of them. He needs to keep his Hiromu around, _this_ Hiromu is his, be it his safety net, his fuck buddy, or just plain _his_.

“Maybe, but everything I am is his doing…everything is falling apart. I’m falling apart.” Hiromu laughs bleakly, his hands cling to Marty’s shoulders. “I can’t ask you to hold me together anymore, Marty.” Hiromu leans in for another kiss. “I can’t do to you what he does to me.”

“Hiromu.” Marty holds Hiromu’s face in his hands, and kisses his forehead. “You can’t. You can’t hurt me the way he hurts you.” Marty kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ve got you, Hiromu. You need me to catch you, I’m here.” Hiromu laughs at him, and shakes his head.

“You’re the worst at catching people, Marty.” Hiromu laughs again, and leans back a little, smiling at Marty fondly. His smile fades slowly.

“Only in the ring.” Marty taps the end of Hiromu’s nose. “I’ll catch you.” Marty pulls him to his chest, and kisses him again, slow and deep. “Let me catch you. Let me have you, Hiromu.” Hiromu takes a deep breath. His bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Marty.” Hiromu looks away, his eyes on the comforter. “He needs me.” Hiromu looks defeated, and all Marty can do is pull him close. Forget everything, forget Bullet Club, forget Cody, forget Ibushi, forget Omega, forget _everything_ but Hiromu. He’s falling apart, and Marty _will_ keep him together.


End file.
